


Begging Me To Open Up My Mouth

by QueenHarleyQuinn



Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Hunter Lothar, Fairy Khadgar, LionTrust, M/M, idk what else to tag, orcs don't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He brought a finger to his mouth, pursed in thought. A long pointed nail pressed against the swell of his lower lip. “The ones who sent you here? What did they call me?”</p>
<p>“Murderer.” Lothar growled.</p>
<p>- - -<br/>Title: Hold Me Down by Halsey<br/>"My demons are begging me to open up my mouth"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Begging Me To Open Up My Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> This really ran away with itself but I'm kinda happy about it. I hope everyone enjoys and please let me know what you think! This wasn't beta'd so all mistakes are mine :)

Some may say that the proper way to handle grief would be to talk about it with another person. Tossing words back and forth with strained voices until someone lied and claimed to _feel better now_. To discuss _feelings_ and - Lothar shuddered - _emotions_ , to cry or scream or just let it out, for Light’s sake. Lothar had a different method.

One that involved ale. So much ale it filled Lothar’s stomach and his veins and his head. He was past drowning in the liquid, he was _dissolving_ in it. With every mug he slugged back part of him slipped away. The first part of him to leave was the small, insignificant voice that tried to sway him away from self-destruction. The one that, every time he looked over the edge of a cliff, told him not to jump. Now teetering over the edge of grief he had no reason to listen to it. As he soared into the chasm other parts of him drifted by - pieces of his broken heart, memories of friends who he would never see again. Ever drop of ale reduced him further and further to a fine mist of nothing.

He couldn’t really recall how long he had been in this tavern but he must have been there for a while because the crowd thinned out. There were at least two other semiconscious patrons being served. The barmaid had to step over and around slumped over, drooling men in order to fetch Lothar more ale. Pretty soon he’d be one of those drooling idiots.

A hand was on his shoulder and Lothar reached for the dagger he kept on his hip but his hand merely graze the side of his armor. Cool metal bit his hand, mocking him. Calling him drunkard, laughing at his foolishness. His dagger wasn’t there because it had been hurled across the barracks when he received word of another life lost. 

A voice washed over him, “Lothar, come home.”

He looked up and into the eyes of his sister. They were warm like like the drink in his mug. And they were sad, remorseful. Lothar should have picked a tavern further out of town. He could hardly believe that his sister, the Queen, was even in such a place. Albeit, she was there because of _him_ but the place reeked of drink and sweat. Surely she could have sent a guard instead. 

“Leave me be, Taria.” 

She sat beside him. She whispered, “They know, Lothar.” Maybe it was the imagination of a drunk fool but the wind outside stilled, time froze.

She spoke again, this time louder. “They know what killed Medivh.”

The fae - Lothar had assumed just as much. If they had just let him _see_ the body he could have told them that from the beginning. He was a _hunter_ after all - he new the signs. Medivh’s not quite cold not quite warm body, covered in shimmering bruises. They were like the stars, the heavens above. Beautiful and gory and wrong. Blood growing thick and sticky like tree sap. Standard tells of the fae. He would have known in an instant. But Lothar wasn’t allowed anywhere near his friend’s body - Queen’s orders. He had seen death in too many of his loves, she told him. His wife, his son, his king and now, Medivh. Seen too many eyes go pale.

Taria pulled something small and fragile hidden in her robe. Leaves? Dried flower petals? “Moth’s wings. They were found in Medivh’s mouth.” That must have been the fae’s omen. Many fae had certain rituals when they killed a human. Lothar had once hunted a fae who left crystals in the eye sockets of their victim, to pay the boatman who lead them into the afterlife. Another that skinned humans alive and stitched them back together. Lothar had stopped searching for the reason why. Some claimed it was religious, others said it was done in amusement - Lothar thought it could be both.

Lothar inspected the wings, no more than two inches in length. It could have been the alcohol swirling in his head but they seemed to vibrate between his fingers. “They are enchanted. They will lead you to Medivh’s killer.” Taria said. She held one of his hands in both of her’s and said, “But, Lothar, please return home and rest first. I worry for you.”

“You need not worry, sister.” Lothar’s speech began thickening. “I…I am fine.”

“You are not.” Taria rose and floated out of the tavern. There could be no other word to describe the way she walked. The barmaid remained in awe that _The Queen_ had been there, right in front of her. The gawking continued when Taria returned with two royal guards to haul Lothar out of the tavern. She smiled kindly at the barmaid who proceeded to curtsy. “I will send someone in the morning to pay for his drinks.” Without any further warning Taria exited the tavern.

* * *

 

Lothar felt at home in the forest, far more at home that he ever could in a castle or the small house he had once shared with his wife. He knew how to hunt (game, as well as fae), he knew where and how to find water, he knew the noises of the animals and what they meant. Alone in the forrest he was comfortable.

Taria attempted many times to send a guard with him, but Lothar always managed to slip past them. They did not know the forrest. They knew the castle walls. The forrest was his.

The enchanted moth wings acted as a compass, twitching and shaking. It was slow going at first, figuring out which direction was best based off the vibrations of disembodied wings. Days of useless wandering past before the wings began to truly flutter on their own, leading him across streams and around fallen trees. Leading him closer and closer to the fae who had killed Medivh. 

The wings flapped and fluttered until they didn’t. The hung in the air for a moment, just enough time for Lothar to find cover behind a tree, and then they dropped to the forrest floor, lost amongst fallen leaves.

_She must be near_ , Lothar thought while drawing his sword. Lothar suspected that the one who murdered Medivh was a woman. He had no real reason for this, but when Taria described the way they found Medivh’s body, the moth wings on his tongue and down his throat - Lothar had pictured a female.

Lothar was shocked to find that he was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

His skin was ivory, dusted in gold, glazed with honey. Large horns peaked between messy, brown locks of hair, a bit above his temples. They spiraled once and pointed backward. A crown of blue flowers rested upon his head and along his horns. He moved like champagne fizzed in a glass - lazy twirling and bubbling laughter. His body was dotted with flora, but the only item of clothing he wore were tight fitting breeches that ended just below the knee. Serpents slithered from the ground and one wrapped around each leg. The sun shining through the leaves of the forest created a diffused glow, thank the Light, or else Lothar might not have been able to look at him directly. He was so bright and beautiful and…

_Deadly. Never forget he is deadly._

“When they described you,” The boy, the fae, the _killer_ , lilted, “I imagined someone younger.”

“When they described you, I imagined a woman.”

The branches above them shook when he laughed, “Are you disappointed?”

Lothar swallowed, trying to escape those wild hazel eyes. “No.”

“Good. Me either.” He smiled, teeth sharp. “They call you Lothar, do they not?” He asked, stepping forward, the grass parting for his feet. The snakes tightened around his calves.

“Anduin Lothar.”

“ _Anduin_.” He swirled the word on his tongue. He slinked forward and Lothar was able to see the flowers twining around his horns, shifting in the breeze. No, they weren’t flowers, they were butterflies fluttering their wings. Lothar supposed if he stretched out a finger one might land on him and…

_You’d be dead, Lothar. He is luring you to your doom_.

“And you?” Lothar asked as he squeezed the grip of his sword.

He brought a finger to his mouth, pursed in thought. A long pointed nail pressed against the swell of his lower lip. “The ones who sent you here? What did they call me?”

“ _Murderer_.” Lothar growled. 

He smiled once more, withdrawing his finger. “My kind call me Khadgar, it means-”

“Trust. That’s a laugh.”

Khadgar rose an eyebrow, “You know our language. Impressive.”

“Enough games,” Lothar touched the tip of his sword to Khadgar’s chest, causing the boy to hiss. It sizzled and burned his skin the way pure silver always does when touching the skin of fae. “I have come to kill you.”

Khadgar’s eyes glowed bright blue, “ _Good luck_.”

The last thing Lothar saw were moths flying out of Khadgar’s mouth.

* * *

 

 

Moments of time went missing. Narrow and unimportant like the gaps between Lothar’s ribs, but just big enough to wedge a knife into. A knife slicked in honey and blood - tangy and bitter and raw. Lothar’s eyes would drift open to catch the light shining off horns and then they would close again.The next time they’d open he was startled by full lips on his throat and a blade digging into his bare skin. His screams had been soothed by soft humming in his ear. An old lullaby he had forgotten the words to.

When Lothar woke again he was on a bed of moss and clean earth, nestled inside a large, hollowed out tree. Moths flittered across his chest, lapping up drying blood on his skin. Lothar glanced down, seeing the maze of runes carved into his chest and stomach. One carving in particular itched, past the surface of his skin and deep into muscle and tissue and bone. Lothar twitched his fingers but he could not move his arms, no matter how hard he tried. He shuffled his feet but could not move his legs. He was bound to the bed.

A moth flew to his lips and he shook his head vigorously.They all flew away.

“You’re awake.”

Lothar whipped his head to the right and saw Khadgar lounging a top a bed of furs. Long fingers turned the pages of a tome.

“Free me, murderer.” Lothar growled

“No.” Khadgar said, wild eyes still focused on the text in front of him. He stood and crossed to the kitchen, gathering herbs and vials liquid and were those strands of Lothar’s hair - they were too long to belong to the fae. Khadgar set the dry items into a mortar and began grinding. Lothar continued struggling in his restraints as Khadgar poured the vials into a cup, gold and glinting like Khadgar’s skin. A drop of this, a drizzle of that, humming that lullaby from before.

After feeling his wrists and ankles burn from the friction, Lothar stopped with a frustrated huff. He glanced towards the ropes that held him in place. They much have been enchanted.

“Drink this.” Khadgar ordered, holding a chalice to Lothar’s dry lips. The drink was muddy and green. Lothar turned his head away. “Believe it or not, Anduin Lothar, I wish not to kill you…yet.”

_Yet?_ Was Khadgar planning on drawing out his death? For how long?

“Drink, Hunter.” Nails dug into his throat and jaw and kept his head still. They felt like claws piercing his skin.

Thighs saddled Lothar's waist and it _stung_ like hundreds of wasps perpetually claiming him as a target. He gasped and whined and spluttered as the concoction is poured into his mouth.

“ _Swallow_.”

Lothar obeyed, trying not to gag as the tar slid down his throat. Soft finger tips stroked his face, his throat, as their nails dragged lightly.

It took a moment for Lothar to notice, the stinging - it was gone. The runes carved into his skin began to glow bright blue, as did Khadgar’s eyes. They were glowing and searing.

“What have you done?” Lothar croaked, voice raw and red like hacked up meat. The pain was returning, but this time it was worse than stinging. 

“I am saving you.”

His soul was burning from the inside out. Crumbling to ash and charr. If he had a voice left in him he would have screamed, the fire expelling from his mouth. He rasped and moaned in agony. He felt himself being torn apart and remade by Khadgar. It was emotional and mental torture. 

Khadgar was indeed saving Lothar. Khadgar was saving Lothar for _himself_. To devour. To cut up and piece back together how he saw fit. To fill his belly with moths and see how long it would take for them to find their way to his mouth again.

Khadgar leaned down, his breath sweet and earthy on Lothar’s face. Khadgar’s tongue darted out like a snake, swiping his lips and disappearing again. Lothar struggled, trying desperately to get this all too beautiful and terrifying creature off of him

_He’s a murder. He’s a murder. He killed your friend. He’s a murder_ , Lothar repeated to himself as his insides turned to ruins.

Khadgar pressed his lips to Lothar’s and Lothar wanted it to burn, begged for it to be painful and disgusting and horrible. But it wasn’t. It was the cool water that drenched his flaming soul. It was what kept him from falling apart, skin flaking off, lips turning to dust.

Khadgar pulled back, grinning like a wolf. “Sleep, Anduin Lothar.”

With the fire extinguished, Lothar blacked out.

* * *

 

 

The fae prey upon foolish humans. On humans who did not listen to their warnings and heed their advice. On humans who worshipped them blindly. On humans who annoyed them. On humans who amused them. On humans who did not fear them. Lothar was a member of the last category.

Not even as a fae took his son’s life did he feel fear. Not of the fae, at least. He feared that he wouldn’t be able to live without Callan but he did not fear the fae. All he felt toward that vile creature was hatred and anger and bloodlust.

Lothar _was_ apart of the last category, until Khadgar kissed him. Lothar feared the power Khadgar possessed over him. Feared how he had turned from _Lothar, The Lion, The Hunter_ to _Lothar, The Fae’s Plaything_. Feared how he wanted, _needed_ to feel Khadgar’s lips on his again. Needed to taste him.

When he woke next, he felt total and complete fear.

He woke, this time, on the bed of furs. He had to admit it was far more comfortable than the earthen bed. He was surprise to find that he wasn’t even tied down this time. 

Lothar peered around the dwelling, lit by candles and starlight that streamed in through some of the cracked wood. He looked down at his carvings that had scabbed over. And then he noticed the warmth curled into his side. 

Khadgar was facing toward Lothar’s chest, thank the Light, or else he’d impale Lothar with his horns. His wild, messy hair tickled Lothar’s side.

_I could kill him_ , Lothar thought, staring down at the fae. Lothar’s heart was pound, pound, pounding in his chest. It hammered against his ribcage, sounding like thunder. Khadgar shifted in his sleep and Lothar’s heart stopped, his breathing stopped.

_I could kill him_ , Lothar thought.

_But I don’t want to_.

Khadgar was beautiful, unearthly beautiful. And powerful. And confident…

_And a murderer_ , Lothar reminded himself, even though he really, _really_ , shouldn’t have to. Khadgar murdered Medivh therefore Lothar should kill Khadgar. It should have been as simple as that. Vengeance and honor and an easy slash across Khadgar’s throat.

But he didn’t _want_ to slash Khadgar’s throat anymore. Those damn ruins must have done something to Lothar, taken his will away. All he wanted was to wind his arms around the fae, to press his lips to his, to-

“You’re going to get a headache with all that thinking.” Khadgar said, staring up at Lothar. “I’m glad you're awake, even at such and unholy hour.”

“What did you do to me?” Lothar asked, voice gravely and hoarse, leading him to believe that he’d been asleep for more than a day.

Khadgar sat up, and ran a finger against Lothar’s healing chest. Lothar sucked in a breath. “I told you, I saved you.” 

Lothar pushed Khadgar’s hand way and sat up. He wanted those hands all over his body but he had to focus. “Save me?”

“Well, technically I _claimed_ you but it is mostly the same.”

“ _Claimed me_? Am I prize now? A slave, perhaps?” Lothar asked, his lips burning. He yearned for the taste of Khadgar. He had heard, grandmothers and old housewives, that if you ate the food the fae eat that no human meal would ever taste as good. He wondered if the same concept applied to kissing a fae? Would he ever be able to be with a human again?

Khadgar scowled, “Of course not. You have a choice.”

“Do I? I don’t remember being asked.”

“The claiming wouldn’t have worked if you were at all opposed to it.”

Lothar sputtered. That had to be a lie. It had to be a trick. Lothar squeezed his eyes shut, searching for the will to kill Khadgar but it wasn’t there. “You bewitched me.”

Khadgar rolled his hazel eyes. “I bewitch many, but not you, _Anduin Lothar_.”

“You killed Medivh!” Lothar growled. Surely the fact that Khadgar had murdered his friend would count as Lothar opposing this _claiming_.

Khadgar shrugged, “I did.”

Lothar’s blood simmered but did not boil. He saw pink but not red. He felt frustration but not rage. “I loathe you.”

“You do not.” Khadgar laughed and cupped Lothar’s cheek, “I did kill Medivh. He was trying to kill me.”

Lothar should pull away from Khadgar. He should strike him down. He should seek vengeance and kill Khadgar. He leaned into hand instead. “That is because you are monster.”

“No. He was afraid. He was your kingdom’s most powerful mage, was he not? He was afraid of losing his power, losing his control.” 

Lothar said nothing. He thought about how Medivh had withdrawn further and further away from Lothar and Taria. Even from Llane, when he had been alive. He pulled back, locked himself away and hid. Medivh talked to no one but himself. Had he loved no one but himself as well?

“Do you know why I’ve been named Trust?” Khadgar asked, moving his hand from Lothar’s face to stroke his arm.

“Is it because your kind have a strange sense of humor?”

“No, _Anduin Lothar_. It is because they believe I know good and evil. I am the bringer of justice. Medivh thought that I was after his power and so he tried to kill me.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Know good and evil?”

Khadgar paused, his hand stuttering before resuming his path up and down Lothar’s arm. “I know that Medivh’s heart had been corrupted. That he would have convinced your King to wage a full war with us fae.”

“Your kind kills mine for sport!” Lothar jerked away, missing Khadgar’s touch immediately. 

“Does your kind not do the same to mine?” Khadgar hissed and turned away. In the dim light Lothar saw the fae’s eyes begin to water. What little heart he left shattered as the first tear fell. It sparkled like jewel. “I have no mother, Anduin. No father, no sister, no brother. They are all dead because of you humans. I am Khadgar. My people trust me so I killed Medivh and then I claimed you.”

“Why? Why claim _me_? A hunter.”

Khadgar smiled, teeth glinting in the light, face still wet with tears. “You interest me. Do I interest you?”

_Yes_ , Lothar thought, his eyes scanning Khadgar’s body. Khadgar’s entire being shimmered. Khadgar was beautiful and clever and strange and like _nothing_ Lothar had ever experienced before. Khadgar with his horns. Khadgar with his white and golden skin.

_Khadgar who killed Medivh_ , Lothar reminded himself. _Khadgar who’s name means trust_.

Lothar swallowed. “Yes,” He finally answered. “You interest me, Khadgar.”

Khadgar grinned and Lothar’s stomach was filled with butterflies and moths - hopefully not real ones. He leaned forward and Khadgar met him half way, sealing their lips together. Lothar held on to Khadgar, clutching him like he was the only thing keeping him alive. Khadgar, with his sharp teeth and sharp nails, bit and scratched what he could reach before soothing each hurt with a kiss. A kiss that tasted of berries and wine and a warm, summer evening.

 

* * *

 

 

What could be said about trust? It is lusted after. It is difficult. It gave no explanation. Khadgar was very much the same way, living up to his namesake.

When Lothar woke again in the following afternoon Khadgar was not there. He woke in the bed of furs alone and sore and confused. Sadness crept over him before swallowing him whole. He shuffled into his trousers and searched for his boots before he caught sight of something bright and beautiful on the bed beside him.

Two blue butterfly wings. Lothar picked them up and held them between his fingers. They vibrated. Lothar smiled and tucked them into a pocket. He found the rest of his gear and wondered where his fae had gone. Lothar stepped outside the dwelling and the blue wings thrummed in his hands.

_C_ ome _f_ ind _m_ e, the wind whispered. 

Lothar was still a hunter.


End file.
